Of Elves and Argonians
by TexasWatermelon
Summary: RepostRewrite. When a young Bosmer sets out to discover her heritage, she ends up getting a little more than she bargained for. Rated T to be safe. Even I cannot predict my whims. Sorry for the crap summary, but the story is more interesting than this.
1. Tidal Beginnings

**T I D A L B E G I N N I N G S**

"What are your orders, Master?"

The corners of a thin mouth lifted, just barely visible under a black hood. The pale skin of the thin face was shaded, dark shadows cast across it by the rapidly spreading firelight that was encompassing the city. The solitary figure that stood in the center of it all allowed his smile to grow only slightly. There were oh so many answers that he could give to his understudy. So much torture and destruction to be had. But direct orders would take the learning out of the lesson. These disciples had to learn to be creative on their own.

"Kill anything that moves. And do take your time about it," was the answer, the voice smooth and chilling, enough to send chills up the spine of the disciple that had asked the question and back down again.

"As you wish," the Breton replied. The figure watched with satisfaction as the band of hooded figures spread throughout the city, bringing a hand of pain and death to all of its citizens. Oh yes, by morning, there would be not a soul left alive in the Valenwood city of Southpoint.

----------

Only several yards away from the cloaked figure, a young Bosmer woman was slipping silently through the city gates, a small blue bundle in her arms. The tiny baby girl slept like a rock, not yet awoken by the noise sweeping throughout the city.

Her footsteps swift and silent as they could be while weighted down by the babe, the woman hurried through the woods surrounding the city. As the trees began to thin, her heart lifted a bit. If she could only get to the beach…

"An escapee! Kill her, Lits!"

Not daring to look back at her pursuers, the woman ran faster, her legs burning with the strain. Tears burned at the corner of her eyes as she broke through the line of trees, a shrub bursting into flame next to her.

The soft sand of the beach slowed her progress as her feet sank into it. The Bosmer stumbled, and the shouts of her attackers grew nearer. She willed herself to press on further, and reaching the ocean wetted sand, she spared one arm to reach to her back and pull the milkweed basket from her back. Tossing it to the water, she kneeled down onto the sand, the salty waves lapping at her skirt. She spared only a second to give the little girl a kiss on the forehead.

"Travel well, my child. I love you."

Gently as she could, while still hurrying, she placed the baby into the basket and gave it a shove. Then, with tears of sorrow dripping down her cheeks, she gave one glance to the necromancers at her back before delving into the depths of the water, not to resurface. The necromancers halted at the water's edge.

"Should we pursue?" Lits questioned.

"Leave her. If she doesn't drown herself, the tides will pull her under. Let's report back to the Master."

As their forms retreated back into the woods, a head broke the surface of the water, gasping for air. The woman looked off to the east, where the tiny basket was being carried off by soft waves.

"Please be safe. Both of you."

----------

_17 years later…_

A young Bosmer dashed through the streets of Soulrest in the Black Marsh, dodging its confused Argonian citizens. They looked after her strangely as she sprinted, bow and quiver bouncing at her back with each light step. She just barely missed the large Hist tree in the town square, only avoiding it due to the fact that she'd passed by it every day of her life and could probably find it in her sleep if need be.

The door of the small cabin that served as a weapons shop banged open as she crashed through it and skidded to a halt at the feet of a tall male Argonian, the shop owner. Taking a moment to catch her breath, though she was hardly winded by the run, she looked up sheepishly at the man.

"Lorren…" he said, his voice deep and father-like.

"I know, I know," the young elf replied, looking down at the floor.

"This is the third time this week that you've been late. You know you're like a daughter to me, but even daughter's get fired for not showing up on time," the Argonian scolded.

"I'm sorry, Amurei, really. You know I get caught up," Lorren said.

"And what could it have possibly been this time?" Amurei asked. "You've read every book in the province on Bosmer and Valenwood. Unless you've taken up a new topic to read about?"

"Well actually… I kind of special ordered this one," Lorren told him, offering him an innocent smile. Amurei sighed. "I can't help it! I'm curious. After seventeen years, you should know that."

"I do know that," Amurei replied, placing the sword he'd previously been polishing into a display case and locking the lid. "Which is why I've been thinking: why are you still here, young one?" Lorren's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Wh- what do you mean?" she questioned carefully, looking at him as though he'd suddenly sprouted another head.

Amurei approached her slowly, placing a large clawed hand on her shoulder. He looked at her like he might look at his own daughter, if he had one. For all intents and purposes, Lorren pretty much was his daughter. When the Bosmer had washed up on the shores of his city seventeen years ago, only a few months of age, he'd been surprised, but eager to help her thrive in the world. Though slightly reluctant at first, most of the rest of the town had agreed to help raise her, to teach her a wide variety of skills to help her survive in the world.

Of course, some skills came to her naturally as a Bosmer. Born under the sign of the Thief as far as they could tell, she was gifted with increased agility, speed, and most definitely luck. Her skill with a bow was unquestionable and her skills of sneak were quite admirable. Still, Amurei was not naïve. He knew that there were certain things native to the Bosmer race that she could not become acquainted with being so removed from her people. This girl's life had not begun in Argonia, and it would certainly not end there. Not if he had any say in it.

"Lorren, there is a great deal for you to learn yet. While books can teach you about your people and the abilities you might have, they cannot give you experience. Nor can they teach you what it is you really seek. Your history, your heritage, your story; none of that lies in the Black Marsh," Amurei explained softly. Lorren looked up at him, her expression slightly hurt, somewhat scared.

"Are… are you saying that I should leave?" she whispered, as though afraid to voice it. Amurei smiled down at her.

"What I'm saying," he said, looking at her meaningfully, "is that you should follow your heart. Wherever it may lead you."

Pale blue eyes blinked up at him, full of concern… full of possibility.

----------

With a frustrated sigh, Lorren threw the blue-covered book down onto the table, sinking back into her chair. She'd read it about five times now, and it still had no more new information for her. In fact, it said about the exact same thing that every other book on Valenwood and Bosmer said.

Glaring down at the offending book, she realized that what Amurei had said to her two weeks earlier was right. She _was_ looking for an explanation, a full account of her history. A Bosmer in southern Argonia was not a likely thing. She'd washed up on shore in a milkweed basket. It was a story she'd forced Amurei to tell her many times in hopes that she could derive some tiny piece of information from it. She hadn't, as yet, been able to.

But to leave the Black Marsh, as he'd suggested? It was ridiculous. It was close to blasphemy! All she'd ever know was this place, this town. She'd hardly ventured ten miles past its boarders (it had no walls). Though she was not Argonian, they were her family, the only one she'd ever known.

She could not ignore the fact, however, that she was growing ever more restless by the day. The same routine day after day: get up, go to work, talk with the people in her town. It was growing tiresome. Her spirit was far too adventurous for such a life. There were questions that she needed answered before her time was done, and she wasn't going to find them here. With another sigh, Lorren looked back down at the book she'd just discarded.

"Maybe he's right," she told it. "Maybe I do need to leave. I'm scared though." Her eyes narrowed suddenly in determination and she reached up, pulling her long black hair into a ponytail. "But not too scared to follow my heart."

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**This is a rewrite of my previous story, of the same name. I didn't like the other one, so I'm redoing it a little.**

**I take no credit for the Elder Scrolls or anything affiliated.**

**The main part of this story (the 17 years later part) begins in 3E 824, a little less than 400 years after the Oblivion crisis.**

**Tell me if this version fares better for you so far, eh?**

**x  
TheTex**


	2. Swift Awakening

**S W I F T A W A K E N I N G**

With a soft swish, the arrow left the string at full force, embedding itself into the side of the grey rat. The rodent squealed in pain, attempting to get away from his intended meal turned assailant. Another arrow joined the first, landing in the neck this time. With a half-hearted squeak, the hopeless rat fell to its side, twitching a bit before it finally stilled. As glittering blood flowed down through matted fur and onto the forest floor, a small figure fell to its knees in front of the dead rat.

Famished and exhausted, Lorren dropped her bow to the leaves beside her and extracted a small iron dagger from her belt. Rat meat wasn't exactly the most satisfactory meal in the world; she'd certainly had better, but it was this or starvation. She decided that the latter was not an option.

A week and a half ago when she'd first decided to set out on her journey, she hadn't expected it to be quite so difficult. Having never ventured outside the boundaries of Soulrest, she had no inkling of the terrain she was about to face while traveling through the Black Marsh. Miles and miles of endless, dank, damp, rodent-infested forests and hot, bubbling swamps with not a settlement in sight had left her completely exhausted. She'd slept against tree trunks for the past ten days with one eye open, hardly daring to fall into a deep slumber even if she could for fear of attack. She'd run out of food only a few days ago, and though she had some amount of gold, she had nowhere to spend it. Truth be told, she wasn't even sure what direction she was headed in and she was quickly losing hope.

The goodbye she'd had to endure from Soulrest was a heart wrenching one. With only a few small belongings so as not to be weighed down, she said goodbye to everyone and everything she'd ever known, including Amurei. It had taken every ounce of will she possessed not to cry as she hugged the old Argonian, taking in his last words of wisdom, luck, and farewell for her. Knowing that there was every chance she might never see him again, she reluctantly extracted herself from him and set off, unable to see the solitary tear that had fallen to his cheek as she left.

Now she was alone, scared, hungry, tired, lost, and irritated. Why the hell had she set off on this journey in the first place? She was perfectly content living life in Soulrest, where it was completely safe. Okay, that was a lie. She wasn't content with it, but as least she knew where she was going everyday when she was there. And she wasn't forced to eat this horrible rat meat.

With a grimace, she used the dagger to saw off a chunk of the meat and cooked it with a low-level flame spell. There was no way she was eating the stuff raw. Daring to take a rest, she leaned back against a tree and gnawed on the tough meat. She would allow herself a few minutes reprieve and then pick up again. If she didn't find a city soon, she would collapse, possibly for good.

----------

The uncomfortable feeling of a cool point at her throat swiftly brought Lorren back to consciousness, making her aware of two things as her eyes focused. One, that her few minutes of reprieve had obviously turned into a good few hours of rest, because it was now close to dusk. Two, that she was no longer alone. In fact, she was very much in company with the long steel sword that was naught but millimeters away from taking her life. Suddenly feeling brave for the situation, she raised her cerulean eyes to meet the deep dark brown ones of the person standing in front of her.

"You sleep far too soundly for a Bosmer," came the voice, low, wise. Within a few seconds, Lorren's mind had memorized the features of his face: the small, deep eyes, the wide, dark mouth, the slightly shallow cheeks, the thick nose, the cappuccino colored skin, creased by wrinkles around the eyes, more stress lines than laugh lines. She didn't speak for fear of pressing the blade any closer to her throat. "Who are you?" Glancing down at the sword, Lorren still didn't answer. Seeming to understand, the man backed off by about half an inch.

"My name is Lorren," she said, pressing herself back into the tree as far as the laws of physics would allow. This would most certainly be the last time she allowed herself to fall asleep in the open again, if she even lived past this encounter.

"And is there any reason that you're sleeping out in the open all by yourself, where anyone or anything can come along and attack you?" the Redguard asked, raising an eyebrow at her. Lorren swallowed. Either he wasn't going to kill her, or he just wanted to scare her as much as possible before he killed her.

"I'm leaving the Black Marsh. At least, I think this is the direction I'm supposed to be going to leave," Lorren replied, getting distracted. "I really don't know where I am. I've been traveling for almost two weeks, I'm exhausted and starving, and I've never been away from home before."

"Where is home?" Lorren frowned. Why was he asking her so many questions? If it weren't for the fact that he still had her at sword point, she wouldn't be answering. As it were, she was in no position to be making up rules.

"Soulrest in the south of the province," she answered quickly. It was the Redguard's turn to frown.

"Soulrest? There's nothing but Argonians that far south. No one can survive the marshes long enough to get there," he pondered, as though to himself. Lorren raised an eyebrow. This man seemed to know quite a bit about the Black Marsh. Perhaps he was a citizen?

"I arrived by ocean. From where I don't know. Which is why I'm leaving, to go find out. And if you don't mind, I'd like to get moving again. I'm hoping to find a real bed to sleep in before I die from exhaustion," Lorren told him, almost forgetting about the sword so close to her neck. The Redguard looked down at her in surprise, but finally drew his sword away and sheathed it. He extended a large, lean hand to her, which after a moment of suspicious glaring, she finally took. When she was up on her feet again, she took up her bow, which she kept in hand just in case.

"Actually, you're about an hours walk from the town of Gideon. There's an inn there by the name of the Scaly Scabbard that you can rest in. Sorry about the rude awakening by the way, but you never can be too careful these days. I'm Wyatt. Wyatt Christophe."

Now that her very life wasn't in his hands, this Wyatt didn't seem quite so threatening as before. His short, dark hair was graying in some spots, and his face looked a bit worn, though the rest of his body looked to be fairly fit. She guessed that he was around fifty years of age, give or take a few, which wasn't very old by Argonian standards, but then again he was obviously not Argonian. What he was, she could only guess from what she read in books about other races. She mused that he was a Redguard, by his dark skin. He had a friendly sort of look to him, but a stern, battle-hardened expression. Lorren figured she was fairly lucky to have had this one run across her rather than someone a little less inviting.

"How about I take you to Gideon," Wyatt offered, shaking her from her thoughts. She raised an eyebrow at him. "It's the least I can do for threatening your life." He offered a small smile. Lorren looked at him with some amount of distrust, but realized that if she was ever going to make it to a city, she'd need some help.

"Okay," she agreed finally with a nod.

----------

Almost exactly an hour later, just as Wyatt predicted, the two of them entered through the gates of Gideon, having made the journey with no trouble other than Lorren's growing fatigue. She'd warmed up to Wyatt a bit, and had begun telling him bits and pieces of her life in Soulrest, something that he seemed fascinated by. She was deliriously happy to be back inside the walls of a city, and even though the air was kind of musty, she breathed it in deeply.

Gideon, it seemed, was a fairly gray place. Its streets (which were not streets really, but more like dirt paths trodden into roads by years of wear) were lined with small, boring buildings made of stone. The people did not seem to be all too interested in hygiene, as far as she could tell. What was more, they weren't all Argonians. Other races walked with them, a strange sight Lorren thought. She even caught sight of what she was almost positive was another Bosmer, just like herself. The thought left her a bit dumbstruck.

"The inn is this way," Wyatt told her gently, leading her through the city. Lorren followed, shamelessly letting her eyes fall on every creature she could, even the Argonians; these were new ones, ones she hadn't known for seventeen years. After stumbling over a stray rock in the middle of the road, Lorren decided to pay a little better attention to where she was going, but still let her gaze drift off to the side whenever someone else passed. The people didn't seem to appreciate her staring very much, but none of them made any remarks to her.

When Wyatt stopped, Lorren almost ran into him. After she recovered, she peered around him to see him reaching out to push open an old wooden door that appeared to be a bit dry rotted and barely hanging on its hinges. The door gave a loud creak in protest of being opened and Wyatt stepped through with Lorren close on his tail.

There were some things that could be considered less than impressive; a mage that could produce no magic, a Fighters Guild member that was too afraid to fight. This was not one of those things. In fact, save this very sentence, impressive and the Scaly Scabbard could not be used in the same vicinity. There was enough space for a small bar and a table to seat maybe three people, if they were small. Lorren guessed by the size of the place that the narrow staircase could lead to a maximum of two cramped rooms. The place was deserted save an old red Argonian male dressed in a sack cloth shirt.

"Good evening!" he exclaimed, far too cheery in Lorren's opinion. He moved out from behind the counter and grasped Wyatt's hand. "Come in, sit down, make yourselves comfortable. What can I get you?"

"A room for the night and whatever food you've got for the lady," Wyatt replied, shaking the reptile's hand.

"Excellent!" the Argonian beamed. "Sit, sit!"

Lorren looked at Wyatt questioningly while the Argonian hustled off to fulfill the order. The Redguard smirked at her and the two moved over to the table. Lorren removed her light blue traveling cloak, stained brown and green from dirt and grass, and some other odd colors, the source of which was unknown. With a slight sigh she placed it over the back of the rickety wooden chair and pulled her hair from its tie, letting it fall around her shoulders.

Wyatt watched her carefully, seeing her exactly for what she was. She was a young girl, skilled in some things, but naïve about most things; a girl on her way to see the world, but unprepared for all of it. She had the sort of face that made her look five years younger than she was, delicate pale skin, deep blue eyes the color of ocean water with a bright spark of youth in them, a small nose by Bosmer standards, rounded at the tip, and a little mouth with a bright smile, though Wyatt hadn't seen it yet. Her hair was black as charcoal, thick and a few inches past her shoulders in length. Her ears were quite long, poking up through her hair. All in all, she was a pretty girl, striking in a way, despite the suspicious look she was giving him at the moment.

"Why did you help me?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him. Wyatt sat back and laced his fingers together, placing his hands atop the worn and nicked table.

"Look, despite the impression you may have gotten, I'm not a bad guy," he told her. Lorren's eyebrows shot up into her brow line.

"Impressions? I'm sorry, was I wrong to think badly of you when I woke up to your sword about to make soufflé out of my esophagus?" The Bosmer questioned, looking a bit offended. Wyatt sighed.

"I said I was sorry," he muttered.

"Oh, well in that case, let's forget about it. We'll break some bread, have some mead, be the best of friends, eh!" Lorren exclaimed sarcastically.

"Why are you being so childish?" Wyatt questioned, glaring at her the way an older brother might.

"Excuse me for getting offended that you tried to kill me!" Lorren yelled, her cheeks reddening a bit with her anger, eyes growing darker.

"I wasn't going to kill you," the Redguard said, growing frustrated with the girl. In reality, he'd probably saved her life, but could she see past her own inflated ego to see that? No.

"So it's custom for you to greet everyone at blade point then?" Lorren shot back.

"Look, let's just drop it," Wyatt growled, unwilling to go on with this argument. "Anyway, what kind of Bosmer allows themselves to be sneaked up on? None that I've met. Your senses are seriously lacking." Lorren shot him an angry glare, but gave no reply as the Argonian innkeeper returned from the cellar with a large plate of fruit, meat, vegetables, and bread. He placed it in the center of the table (it took up the majority of the surface area), followed by two mugs of mead.

"Enjoy," he hissed at them with a toothy grin before ambling off to the bar again.

A vine of grapes, an apple, and a loaf of bread were immediately snatched off of the plate by pale, slender hands. Wyatt gave Lorren a few moments reprieve to inhale the food, which she did at record speed, before continuing their conversation on a different topic.

"What's your plan?" he asked, his voice gentler than it had been before. He didn't know the girl's entire story, but what he did know made him realize that he needed to be a little easier on her. She'd grown up in a land full of creatures that could teach her nothing of her people's ways; no parents, no siblings, no one to look for her. She didn't belong in the Black Marsh, but she didn't have anywhere else to belong either, and she knew nothing of the world. Sheltered and directionless, she was practically defenseless.

"What do you mean?" Lorren countered through a mouthful of bread, a few of the crumbs spilling onto the table.

"You're leaving the Black Marsh to learn something about yourself. How do you plan on going about that?" Wyatt clarified, attempting to keep his patience. She was a tiring girl and he'd only known her for two hours.

Lorren looked at him as though he'd just dropped an anvil on her head, eyes staring up in realization, mouth still opened in anticipation of the bread that never made it there, but was instead placed upon the table. A plan. Now she understood.

"You don't have a plan," Wyatt said, rather than asked. He could already tell. "Look kid, you can't just go wandering across Tamriel with no rhyme or reason. That's how you get killed. Do you have any starting point, any clues?"

"Well, I've read all kinds of books. Bosmer are from Valenwood. If figured I'd start there," Lorren recovered, though she still had a deep sinking feeling in the bottom of her stomach as though someone had suddenly pressed the zoom out button on the map of her life and she was just now realizing the fact that she was but a tiny speck in relation to the rest of the world. The answers to her questions could be anywhere. Or they could be nowhere at all.

"Originally Bosmer hail from Valenwood, yes. But it's been a long time since each race confined itself to its respective homeland. You can find a Bosmer virtually anywhere in Tamriel at this point," Wyatt was explaining.

"The sea!" Lorren exclaimed suddenly, looking up at him. "I washed up on shore when Amurei found me." She watched as the Redguard's brows furrowed in thought, taking a sip of her mead.

"Hm… that's something," he mused quietly. "If you came in from sea, the most likely explanation is that you were sent off from the shores of either Elsweyr, Valenwood, or the Summerset Isles. Since there are only Khajiit that far south in Elsweyr, and most non-Altmer like to steer clear of the Summerset Isles, there's a pretty safe bet that you did come from Valenwood." Lorren beamed at his conclusion. "However, that doesn't narrow it down any. There are thousands of Bosmer in those woods. You could be family to any one of them."

"_That_ is something that I can worry about when I get to Valenwood," Lorren told him, dismissing the subject. She settled back in her chair and allowed herself to enjoy another cluster of grapes, feeling significantly more at ease now that she knew for sure where she was headed.

"Regardless," Wyatt continued, unsatisfied with her carefree attitude about the situation, "you still need to plan a route. You can't just cut across through Elsweyr; the deserts will kill you. If you think your little week and a half trek from Soulrest to Gideon was bad, you've got another thing coming with that. Your best bet is to head up and around the southern boarder of Cyrodiil, make a stop in the city of Skingrad, and then head directly south from there. It'll take you straight into Valenwood."

"Well if that's what sounds good to you, then I suppose that's what I'll do," Lorren replied carelessly. Wyatt shook his head, but said nothing. It was useless to keep going on the subject. He would let Lorren have her peace.

"I'm going to get myself a room for the night. Don't worry about the bill, I'll pay for everything. It's likely that we won't meet in the morning, so it was a pleasure to threaten you, young Lorren," he said, standing up. Lorren looked up and nodded, swallowing a piece of carrot.

"Yeah. Thank you for escorting me here, and for your advice. Maybe I'll see you around," she replied.

"It's possible," Wyatt nodded. "Goodnight."

Lorren watched him ascend the steps, each one creaking as his weight pushed on it. Though the entire ordeal was odd, she would not deny that she was fortunate to have been discovered by one Wyatt Christophe. Now though she needed to focus on the journey ahead. Wyatt was right. If these past few days were a challenge for her, there were much worse things to come. The trek to Valenwood would not likely be easy on her.

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**Yes, these cities are real according to the current Tamriel map. Swear I'm not making it up.**

**I like this version of the story a lot better.**

**Review if it pleases you.**

**x  
TheTex**


	3. Overcast Sendoff

**O V E R C A S T S E N D O F F**

It was a grim day, dark and stormy, a highly un-cheerful scene. Small droplets of water fell from the gray cloaked sky, pelting the dirt roads of the city, turning them into a thick brown sludge. The sun, it seemed, was out for the day, and even if it had been present in this town, there was little likeliness that its rays would have been able to penetrate the grungy panes of the sole window occupying the face of the Scaly Scabbard, which at present held two occupants.

Despite these depressing circumstances, one of these occupants remained oddly cheery. Indeed, the tall Argonian was seldom known for being ill of mood, which coincidentally enough caused him to be somewhat of a scourge in the bleak town of Gideon. His only visitors were travelers, foolish enough or pushed by necessity to venture into the mid-western regions of the Black Marsh, in need of a warm (though admittedly uncomfortable) bed and unspoiled food and drink. It was to the surprise of most of them that they got delightful company along with it, and generally good conversation if they were willing to partake with the innkeeper.

On this morning, the Argonian, Jeetzum by name, was bustling about his inn. Having already taken his breakfast, he was now tidying things up, bringing stores up from the cellar and restocking the fireplace with wood. When his duties downstairs were complete, he ambled up the steps, long red tail dragging behind, thumping on each stair. When he reached the narrow hallway leading to two rooms he passed by the first, leaving the door closed, and entered the second.

Although the room had been occupied only hours before, one could hardly tell. Still the Argonian straightened out the bedroll and dusted off the old nightstand that stood in the corner, extinguishing the light there.

Entering the hallway once again, this time the innkeeper did enter the first room, opening the door quietly as he could to reveal a small sleeping Bosmer girl. She was curled up under the bedroll cover, sleeping as soundly as though she were a baby, unstirred by the creaking of the floorboards or the soft swishing of the Argonian's tail as it swept across the ground. Jeetzum hardly wanted to wake her, but he was under strict orders to do so (for a little extra gold, of course).

"Little Bosmer," he whispered, not wanting to startle the girl. She did not stir. "Wake up, little Bosmer." The girl still did not move, and Jeetzum wondered at the fact that he'd met Orcs that slept more lightly than this elf.

He gave her a small poke in the side with one of his claws and she stirred a little, but didn't wake. Another poke and she groaned.

"Go away, Amurei," she muttered sleepily. "It's not time for work yet." Jeetzum was puzzled as to why she called him that, but persisted in poking her until with a frustrated grunt she finally threw the cover back and glared up at him icily, only to have her expression change to sleepy confusion when she realized that he was not who she thought he was.

"Jeetzum is sorry to wake you, little Bosmer, but I was told to," the Argonian explained, offering her an apologetic smile. Lorren frowned.

"Told by whom, exactly?" she asked, now fairly awake. She had an idea, one that was highly annoying to her, but she wanted confirmation.

"The Redguard you came in with last night. He told me to wake you at exactly seven thirty. I think I might be a minute late, but what he doesn't know won't hurt him!" Jeetzum mused to himself. "Now gather your things and come downstairs, little Bosmer. I have breakfast for you and a few other things courtesy of the Redguard. He was a nice man." Lorren rolled her eyes as she took up her cloak and laid it across her arms.

"Obviously you've never been asleep near him," she muttered.

"I was," Jeetzum told her brightly. "He woke me up!"

"And you're still alive?" Lorren asked, strapping her quiver to her back. "Lucky you." She brushed past him, descending the stairs swiftly. Jeetzum looked down at himself in confusion, as if checking for any unknown wounds. Finally, he shrugged and followed after her.

Lorren was already seated at the table when he got downstairs, thoroughly inspecting her bow and arrows as though she expected them to be missing or tampered with. After she set them aside on an empty chair, Jeetzum presented her with another plate of fruit and bread and a large mug of tea. She thanked him and proceeded to munch away idly.

"Do you ever sit down?" she asked after a few minutes, looking up at him. He was standing behind the counter, cleaning it off with an old rag.

"Not unless asked to," Jeetzum replied simply. Lorren frowned.

"Well by all means, do. It is your inn after all," she pointed out.

"Many thanks, little Bosmer," the Argonian said, grinning at her as he took a seat across the table. "But it is not my inn. I merely keep it going for travelers like yourself."

"That's an interesting philosophy," Lorren commented, gazing at him speculatively. "You're awfully cheerful for an Argonian."

"Why be glum when there are so many reasons to be happy?" Jeetzum questioned.

"I can't seem to find very many at the moment," the Bosmer replied, toying with the string on her bow.

"Nonsense!" Jeetzum exclaimed, springing out of his chair. Lorren's head snapped up to look at him, startled by the move. "You're going on an adventure!"

"I'm going to find my parents. Or try, anyway," Lorren corrected, watching him as he rounded the bar again. He disappeared behind it as he stooped down to gather something, or so she assumed.

"But you are going to a place you've never been, yes?" Jeetzum resumed as he straightened himself. "To meet people you've never met, see things you've never seen, fight creatures you've never imagined. That, little Bosmer, is an _adventure_. Jeetzum thinks it will be a good one, especially for someone so young."

He was at the table now, holding a knapsack and a small belt with a sheathed sword attached. He set them down in front of her and she looked at them in confusion, then back to him. He smiled at her knowingly.

"Perhaps the Redguard is kinder than you thought."

Ignoring him, Lorren took the belt first, examining it carefully. It was simple, leather, unimpressive, but seemingly sturdy. Then, placing one hand on the sheathe (also leather), and the other on the hilt of the blade, she extracted the shortsword. It was silver in make, light and cool in her hands. It glinted in the firelight, swirled carvings climbing up the edges to a perfect point. Lorren wasn't terribly well-versed in the art of blade wielding, but she'd learned enough working in Amurei's weapon shop to get her by.

"Did he buy this?" Lorren asked, looking back up at the Argonian in disbelief. Jeetzum smiled.

"I don't know. But he didn't have it with him last night," he replied joyfully.

While Jeetzum seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the situation, Lorren was stuck somewhere in between gratefulness and suspicion. She sheathed the sword and laid the belt back on the table. Placing the knapsack on her lap, she undid the drawstring and peered down inside. There was a folded up piece of parchment lying on top; a note. Lorren picked it up and unfolded it, revealing a tiny scrawl addressed to herself.

_Lorren,_

_I know that we didn't have the best of starts, but I think that your journey is a noble one. I wanted to do what I could to help you with it. Inside the sack you'll find a map of Tamriel marked with my recommended course, a compass, three moderate level healing potions, and if my Argonian friend did not fail me, enough food to make it to Leyawiin, your first stop in Cyrodiil. The sword is made of silver, which will be of use to you if you run across any transparent enemies._

_You're young, but I think you've got a good head on your shoulders. Be careful, stay sharp, and don't go to sleep in the open._

_Good luck._

_Wyatt_

When she was done reading, Lorren placed the note aside and dug through the sack some more. Sure enough, her fingers found another, thicker sheet of folded parchment, three smooth flasks, a small round thing wrapped in a cloth, and a bundle of what felt like more fruits, vegetables, and bread. She pulled the map out and smoothed it across the table. A thin black line marked her journey, leading west from Gideon, into Cyrodiil, through a dot named Leyawiin, then north from there to another dot named Bravil. From there it curved west again into Skingrad, and directly south into Valenwood. Lorren traced it with her finger, unable to hide the smile forming on her lips. Apparently Jeetzum was right; Wyatt wasn't so bad after all.

Replacing the map and note, Lorren drew out the compass, closed the bag, donned her cloak, and threw the bag over her shoulder. Then she fastened her quiver and bow to her back, tied the belt to her waste, grabbed up an apple and the compass. Facing Jeetzum, she sighed.

"How do I look?" she asked. Jeetzum grinned.

"Like you're about to go on an adventure," he replied. Lorren smiled in return.

"Thank you, Jeetzum."

"Of course, of course!" he exclaimed, following her to the door. "If you're ever in the Black Marsh again, come see me."

"I will," she assured him.

"Good luck, little Bosmer." Lorren smiled, and lifting the hood of her cloak up onto her head, stepped out into the rain.

----------

Two hours later, the rain had not ceased and the soft squishy earth was making it increasingly harder to walk. With Gideon far behind her, Jeetzum's enthusiasm no longer had much of an effect on the Bosmer. She was soaked through to the skin and freezing, trudging through the mud and sopping forest undergrowth at a snail's pace. She wasn't tired, but her legs hurt and her feet felt like they weighed a million pounds each time she lifted one of them.

Focused on her internal complaints as she was, Lorren stopped paying attention to where she was going. Her eyes were turned towards the colorless sky, blinking rapidly against the raindrops attempting to assault them. Suddenly there was a loud splash as her right foot stepped unknowingly into a large puddle. The Bosmer quickly lost her balance, and with a dreadful feeling in the pit of her stomach, crashed to the ground with a splat.

Lorren groaned, raising her head to spit the muddy water from her mouth. She had the mind to just lie there for the rest of the day, the upper half of her body surrounded by liquid dirt, the other firmly squished into dark mud. It would be no less comfortable than what she'd been enduring before.

Without explanation, Wyatt's note came to mind. His words of encouragement and kind aid would all be in vain if she was this quick to give up. She might as well have not even left Soulrest at all if that was the case. And what would Jeetzum do were he in this situation? Not lie there and complain about it, that was for sure.

With a growl of determination, the elf pushed herself up from the puddle and sat at the edge of it, not caring at this point that she was sitting in mud. Her cloak was filthy, and it was likely that her shirt and pants underneath were in no better condition. Using more force than was really necessary, Lorren tugged each of her boots off, tying the laces together and hanging them around her neck. She would be able to move more swiftly in these conditions if she weren't weighed down by them.

Taking one final moment to steel herself mentally, Lorren stood up and began heading in her intended direction once more. Her pace was quickened now that her feet were light, and her undeterred mind led her onward without rest for the next three hours, when the rain finally began to slow.

"Let's see what our friendly neighborhood reptile packed here," Lorren muttered to herself when she finally did stop, resting near a sodden bush.

She pushed the map and potions out of the way to get to her food bundle, lifting it out and setting it on her lap. Upon opening it she discovered quite a large amount of food, including apples, grapes, carrots, blackberries, strawberries, cheese, and bread. She smiled a bit, thinking that she really was glad to have had the Argonian's company, and by extension, Wyatt's.

After eating a small, but filling lunch and taking a few sips of rainwater that had collected on the leaves of the bush beside her, the Bosmer took out her compass to confirm the direction that she was going. When she was satisfied, she repacked her things, slung her pack over her shoulder, and set off again.

----------

It was getting late; the last few rays of the sun were slowly settling down underneath a very distant line of mountains. The rain had finally stopped, and dusk's cold was beginning to set in, a chill breeze floating past the trees.

The plants were beginning to change in this area, becoming less woody and more tropical. Ferns and fungi and water grasses sprung up along the landscape. There were occasional pools of freshwater dotted with water flora.

Lorren became startled as she passed one of these pools, for a strange tinkling sound caught her ears. At first she suspected she was just imagining it, but as she neared closer to the edge of the pool, the sound not only persisted, but grew louder. She stopped and looked around, attempting to find the source of the noise, but it didn't appear to be coming from anywhere. It was when she looked down that she realized that it was right in front of her, emanating from a plant that she would have taken for no more than a mere weed, had it not been emitting a soft whitish glow.

Fascinated by the thing, Lorren stooped down and just barely touched one of its leaves with the tip of her finger. Its tinkling became slightly louder, causing her to jump back a bit and almost fall over. Deciding that it was best to leave it alone for now, she stood up, and giving it one last curious glance, continued walking.

The growing darkness let her know that it was soon time to quit her journey for the night. Much as she wanted to arrive in Leyawiin as quickly as possible, she knew that it was unwise to continue on in the dark. She could see well enough, but there were too many scenarios that could occur. Still, experience had taught her that it was just as dangerous to stop in the open. She needed to find something enclosed.

She had now come to the bottom of a small slope, which she mounted with ease. When she did, she found that the answer to her problem lie below her. A few feet off from the bottom of the hill, a fire was blazing in the center of three tents. Just when she was about to question whether or not the camp was deserted, a large figure appeared out of one of the tents, shortly followed by a smaller figure from another. So it was occupied. Perhaps they were friendly?

Deciding not to take her chances, Lorren eased herself down the hill, attempting not to make any noise. She crouched down, getting as near to it as possible, and then hiding behind a tree trunk. Perhaps she could catch some conversation between the two, get an idea of their friendliness.

The larger of the two was neither elf nor beast, and judging by his size he was likely a Nord. The other was a female, perhaps of Breton or Imperial decent. Lorren couldn't decide which. They were sitting beside the fire, which had a spit of roasting deer meet by the smell.

"I don't know, Alsa, I still think we could increase our pull twofold if we moved our camp nearer to town. We could spend more time on the roads, catch more people unawares," the Nord said after a minute of tending the meal. His voice was boisterous, but slow.

"We could also get caught by the city guard," Alsa replied quickly, tossing some vegetables in a pot. "It would be easier for them to track us if we were closer. Unless you want to spend the next ten years rotting away in Leyawiin prison? I don't think Ri'Jarr would appreciate it very much. The count has something against Khajiit."

Lorren held her breath. Apparently these people were the exact opposite of friendly. Bandits, most likely. Fantastic. At least she knew that she was fairly near Leyawiin now. Perhaps she could just sneak around the encampment, find a cave to settle in for the night…

"Well now, what do we have here?" a soft voice hissed from behind her. "A spy?" The Bosmer froze, then slowly turned to find herself face to face with a golden-furred Khajiit. He had a devilish grin on his hairy face, one that told Lorren she was in for some trouble.

"Uh, Ri'Jarr?" she asked cautiously. The cat frowned.

"How do you know my name?" Lorren shrugged, smiling sheepishly, then let her left fist connect with his jaw.

"Lucky guess," she said. The Khajiit stumbled backwards, growling in pain, and Lorren used the opportunity to turn and sprint away from him, dashing through the center of the camp.

"Hey!" the Nord yelled as she sprinted by, dumbfounded by the intrusion.

"After her," Ri'Jarr yelled from behind, apparently recovered. "She's a spy!"

Lorren kept running as fast as her tired legs would carry her, pulling her bow out quickly as she could. She drew an arrow and shot blindly behind her, but the lack of painful screams told her that she missed. Chancing a glance over her shoulder, she saw Ri'Jarr gaining on her, and took another shot. The arrow buried itself in the Khajiit's shoulder, causing him to fall back with a loud roar. Lorren fired off two more shots, both aimed at the Nord, who was taller and farther back than Alsa. The first hit him square in the chest, the other just barely missed his head.

Satisfied that the worst of her enemies were dealt with, Lorren turned her attention back to the forest in front of her. Just in time, too, for she had to leap over a fallen log, one that, judging by the thump she heard seconds later, Alsa apparently missed.

It was a good four or five minutes after her pursuers ceased before Lorren finally slowed, more out of necessity than anything. Her leg muscles were burning, having already been worn out from the day's travels, and could no longer keep up the pace. She stopped and bent over in an attempt to stretch them out, but she knew she had to keep going in case the bandits decided to keep after her.

Away the firelight, she noticed that it was now fully dark. The moonlight was scarcely able to penetrate the forest canopy, and it was harder to see now. Regardless, the Bosmer kept walking in hopes of finding some place to rest for the night.

It was close to midnight before she finally found a large rock with an overhanging big enough to conceal her. Sinking into the depths of the shadow it offered, she threw her bag down and laid her head against it. With a final prayer that she wouldn't be found by anything unfriendly, the girl fell into a cold, uneasy sleep.

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**ayleid (dot) net (slash) ambivalence. My inspiration to continue writing on this as much as I did. It's a great read, even though it is filled with Altmer :P**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Elder Scrolls or anything affiliated.**

**Review if it will give you warm fuzzies inside.**


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